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Right now

Photo of a seascape, taken in bright sunlight, with snowy mountains, clear blue water, and a white boathouse.
Photo of a seascape, taken in bright sunlight, with snowy mountains, clear blue water, and a white boathouse.

First: let’s just pretend the winter of 2022/2023 didn’t happen, yeah? Excellent. Good riddance.

Right now, I’m sitting in my apartment with the windows wide open. I can hear the ocean, and the myriad of birds that are as happy about spring as I am. It even smells good out there now. I have seen dry asphalt (the ultimate sign of spring up here), the seagulls are back, and even the local otter prefers to eat its lunch sprawled on the seaside rocks, bathing in the sun.

I’m teaching myself how to knit socks (second time’s the charm, right?), and have chosen a soft yarn that looks exactly like rainbow sprinkles. It’s a refreshing change from my previous knit, which was a navy winter trapper hat. The overlock machine I bought last August has finally been tried out, and today I’m going to cut out my second attempt at a black jersey pencil skirt. The first version was hastily altered in a thoughtless moment, and created a weird fabric bump right down the middle of my backside. I could really use a skirt like that, though, and thankfully Past Maria always overestimated how much fabric she would need, so I have just enough for a second try.

Speaking of clothes — I actually haven’t bought any new ones for all of 2023. Well, I did order some at the end of March (after a few frustrating “I genuinely have nothing to wear”-mornings), but none of them fit me well, and so all were returned. I’ve become even more picky with my clothes the past few years. Not so much in terms of style or expression (when you’re plus sized in Norway, that’s too high a bar), but regarding materials and fit. The physical feeling of a poorly fitted shoulder, or a fabric that doesn’t breathe, is just not something I’m able to ignore anymore. Sewing my own garments seems to be the most successful way to get what I want, which I find somehow both liberating and incredibly restrictive.

Maybe it’s just because I’m getting older, and thus starting to experience that giving-less-fucks thing I’ve heard so much about, but I really am feeling so rebellious towards the whole fashion/beauty industry these days. Not even in the way where I read a lot about the theory and get worked up about the wrongness of it all (though I have enjoyed Jessica DeFino’s substack “The Unpublishable”), but more as in that I just don’t even want to think about it, at all. I refuse to believe that so much of me needs constant fixing and grooming to be acceptable. I won’t do it anymore. Just leave me in peace, with my unplucked eyebrows and grown-out roots and unshaved legs. Any shame you feel looking at me, well, that all belongs to you.

Can you tell I’m a bit fed up with the world right now? Maybe not the world itself, but the people, especially in that impersonal form we call society.

I’d rather be with seagulls, every time.

Don’t get the wrong impression, though: I am delighting in this time right now. I love knowing that all my favourite parts of the year are coming: the budding, the growing, the neverending light. It feels like this summer will be one where I won’t stew in worries or annoyances, because I just won’t have any interest in, or patience for them.

I’ll swat them away; don’t bother me, I am too busy indulging my inner Ancient Greek. It’s more important to eat fruit in the sun. I’d rather read love poems with the windows open. The piano demands my attention.

October 2022: bird friends, beauty grooming, and holding on to the light

Three photos of a seaside landscape and a white boathouse, in the first sprinkle of winter.
Three photos of a seaside landscape and a white boathouse, in the first sprinkle of winter.

Outside

Cats fighting, waking me up. A floating log that looked just like a person. Two people in a small boat, fishing quietly at dusk. Snow on the mountaintops again. Snow on the ground again, and on my herbs and lavender, too. A tiny bird, sitting a meter away while I held my breath so I wouldn’t scare it. Three ducks following me home from the mailbox (they got some bread for their friendliness). The eagle is back. The sun, for what might have been the last time this year for me. The moon, spectacularly bright. The day I suddenly noticed it’s getting darker at five o’clock. Then four. Then three.

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September 2022: Autumn, my way

Three photos of a seaside landscape and a white boathouse, in various autumn weather. The middle photo is blurry, taken through a rain-spattered window.
Three photos of a seaside landscape and a white boathouse, in various autumn weather. The middle photo is blurry, taken through a rain-spattered window.

Outside

Proper autumn smells, then the autumn colours. On yet another pharmacy run: people who’ve celebrated pride, with brightly-coloured hair and queer flags painted on their cheeks. The return of the moon (during summer it’s too light to see it properly here). The first morning of opening the bedroom window wide and having proper cold autumn air rush into the room. The heron, camouflaged on the rocks. A lone, swimming moose.

A photo of the seaside, with a rocky shore, autumnal trees, and a bright blue sky and ocean.
A photo of the seaside, with a rocky shore, autumnal trees, and a bright blue sky and ocean.

Inside

Rule one: keep the kitchen table clear. I’ve mostly succeeded, though as mum always used to say when we were kids: there’s nothing so alluring as an empty table.

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Summer 2022: the golden days, and embracing my inner nerd

Three photos of the same seaside landscape, showing a white boathouse, the ocean, and faraway mountains, in different kinds of soft, warm light.
Three photos of the same seaside landscape, showing a white boathouse, the ocean, and faraway mountains, in different kinds of soft, warm light.

It feels strange to write a summer summary whilst wearing a wool shawl, drinking tea and watching the evening grow darker. In my defence I’ve been focused on other kinds of writing, and also just living life. July was a blur of sisters and outside and sunshine and projects, and then August came and demanded I repay the energy I’d borrowed, with an unkind interest rate to boot.

My birthday was in August. I know you’re no longer supposed to care about birthdays when you’re all of thirty-six, but I don’t care — it was lovely, and life generally needs more celebrating. In a way, this whole summer felt like one big celebration (minus the inescapable doctor’s appointments). I’m both very glad to have had it, and glad to be back to my usual calm routines.

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June 2022: spitefully happy

Three photos of the same seaside landscape, showing a white boathouse, the ocean, and faraway mountains, in all kinds of summer weather (except the grey days, because they looked so dull in photos).
Three photos of the same seaside landscape, showing a white boathouse, the ocean, and faraway mountains, in the best kinds of summer weather.
Three photos of the same seaside landscape, showing a white boathouse, the ocean, and faraway mountains, in the best kinds of summer weather.

Another month of Many Bad Things, which I dealt with by being spitefully happy whenever I could. Spent seven hours at the hospital — twice? Sing loudly and intentionally badly in the car all the way home. Tired of the apartment being a mess, wanting to fix it yourself, but too tired to do so? Self-date, complete with a fancy dress (dirty hair is fine), popcorn and a movie from the 90s. Utterly fed up with medications, appointments, being Responsible and Practical and Adult? At least thirty minutes on the sunbed in the shade, smelling the lemon thyme and the salty sea air until the world grows large again.

Spiteful happiness — because it works©.

A part of a garden, with leafy trees, wooden seating, and plants in pots. A white bath mat hangs to dry on an old-school drying rack.
A part of a garden, with leafy trees, wooden seating, and plants in pots. A white bath mat hangs to dry on an old-school drying rack.

Outside

Three seagull babies, finally! I do get a bit obsessed with them, but they’re the closest I’ll get to having a pet and also they’re adorable. Sudden wind and dark skies, all thundery and hot. The amazing smell of summer rain. Big rainbows, apt for June. A stereotypically aloof cat. Airing out all the blankets and rugs.

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